


post hiatus

by tomarkhello



Category: Blink-182
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomarkhello/pseuds/tomarkhello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom always gets a little nervous before shows but this time its a little more than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	post hiatus

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb5iMpV6cBg
> 
> based off of this look

The first show back Tom gets real drunk. Like really drunk. He reasons it is the first time his band is back together- his /band/. The little threesome he's cultivated from high school and they've gone through a lot they've gone through a hell of a lot fire and brimstone in the form of drugs and alcohol and plane crashes and he can't do this.  
Leaning heavily on the back door of his dressing room with a bottle of wine clutched at its neck he starts to hyperventilate. He swallows a whine in the back of his throat that threatens to voice his hysteria. He can't do this. Tom closes his eyes tightly and brings the bottle to his lips again and drinks down a few more gulps. He sets the finally emptied wine glass down with shaking hands, breath shuttering out of his lungs. He can't do this. 

He can hear his name being called from down the hall outside his dressing room. It's Mark. 

"Toooommmmm we gotta go! We’re up!" 

Footsteps of his friend sound closer as he makes his way to Tom’s dressing room. 

Tom doesn't remember placing his face in his hands but there they are. He also doesn't remember when his shoulders started to shake but hell; there they are too- shaking.  
"F-fuck" his breath is shaky too, his knees give in and he slides to the floor and- no. Fucking no he's not going to cry pull yourself together. 

"Tom?" Mark inquires more softly, rapping the white door Tom’s back is towards with a knuckle. Tom tries to breath silently even with his breath hitching and says nothing, knowing if he did his voice would break. 

"Tom? You in there?" Mark now sounds worried, it twists Tom’s heart and he feels worthless and unworthy and what he's done to his best friend floods his mind in images of stoned interviews where he's spitting insults and screaming matches back in 2004 and he clenches his fist and whines pathetically, as quietly as he can. 

"Tom?! Are you okay?"  
Fuck he heard that. 

The Bassist then tries the door, the handle turning but Tom’s body prevents it from opening. 

"Hey, open up, what's wrong buddy?" Mark’s voice is gentle and low, and Tom almost feels sorry for him that he feels that way. That’s been the fucking problem all along, Tom’s soft spot for Mark. It’s still there, never went away. Tom’s been careful to hide it under more music and drinking and painkillers and his family. But there it is, quivering slightly at the sound of Mark’s sad voice.

Instead of talking, Tom scoots himself so he is no longer propping the door shut, and Mark slowly opens the door.

“Tom?” The foe hawked man peeks his head through the slightly open door, looking around the sparse room for his bandmate. “Hey,” He says when he spots Tom, knees tucked up under his chin and staring blankly at the white all across from him, not acknowledging the greeting.

Mark’s seen Tom’s pre-concert jitters before, but it’s been a while since it’s been this bad. He notices the empty wine bottle lying on the table by the doorway. He notices the other wine bottles in the trash as well. 

“Hope you had some friends over and didn’t down this all yourself,” Mark chuckled nervously as he eyed the empty alcohol. Tom just blinked.

“Oh Tom,” The bassist sighs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He sits down next to Tom and their shoulders are touching, Mark can feel him shaking slightly. 

Well, Tom usually isn’t this freaked out. It kind of freaks Mark out himself. Tom doesn’t lean into him like he usually does and out of the corner of his eye Tom continues to look straight ahead, forcing Mark to make the first move.

“Hey, man talk to me,” Mark nudges his knee against Tom’s own. It doesn’t work. 

Mark sighs exasperatedly again, which makes the taller man feel worse, like he’s more of a burden, more of a disappointment. 

“Tom at least look at me.” There was a little bit of a plea in Mark’s voice, and Tom would be fucked if that never seemed to work on him. So he turned towards his friend.  
Tom’s heart beats in his chest and his arms feel light. He knows he's freaking out pretty bad but he can't seem to even want to try and calm down. His eyes are red and eyebrows are furrowed as he looks into Mark’s eyes hesitantly. Shame washes over him, it's been way too fucking long of him doing shows and he still puts Mark through his bullshit. 

Mark’s blue eyes soften. “Are you scared?” 

Tom drops his gaze again. “I know you'll do great Tom, we've practiced so much and I mess up all the time, really it's going to be okay.”

A hand slides across Tom’s shoulder blades and rubbing circles on his back. Tom knows it's Mark’s hand, but he can't remember when he started the soothing motions. Mark doesn't say anything else but patiently waits for Tom to respond to him. 

A shuttering breath shakes Tom’s body again as he sighs. “It's not….” he wets his lips and swallows, “it's not that.” 

Mark widened his eyes and scooted closer to his curled up friend. He didn't press the man, just waited for him to continue.

“What if they… hate me,” his voice cracked on the last word, shame flooding over him. 

“Tom…” Mark was shocked, at a loss as of what to say.

Tom started to shake more beside the bassist, dropping his head in between his knees and starting to hyperventilate. “I-I-I-I…. M-Mark I,”

“It’s okay,” Mark continued his soothing motions of his hand on Tom’s back. “You can tell me.”

“I don't think I can do this,” Tom finally chokes out.

Mark’s frown deepens. He sits quietly beside Tom’s form before arranging himself in front of Tom’s legs. “Tom? Hey, take some deep breaths Tom,” 

Tom’s hitching breaths prevented him from the smooth inhale and exhale that Mark so desperately believed would calm his friend. 

“Shhhhhh,” Mark shushed him gently, grabbing Tom’s ankles and straightening out his legs so Mark sat between them, in order to help Tom relax and spread out, not tighten into a ball like he normally does under extreme stress. 

It seemed to help as Tom concentrated more on what Mark was doing to his legs than the anxiety bubbling behind his chest and throat and gut. He took a deep breath in, hitching as he breathed out, smooth inhale, smooth exhale, and then his breathing evened out. 

Tom raised his head to see Mark’s half smile, kind eyes. Tom’s lips twitched in response as he savored how he could now fill his lungs without his diaphragm spazzing.  
“You a little bit better?” Mark asked without rush. 

“Fuck.” Tom said flatly. “Yeah. That was embarrassing.” he said, full of self-deprecation. 

“Happens to the best of us,” The older man shrugged. “And by that I mean I get my fair share of anxiety.” He winked at Tom.

Tom chuckled lightly, a little bit mesmerized by Mark’s blue eyes and the way that he kept rubbing slow circles into the inside of Tom’s knee (probably unknowingly to Mark that he had continued the soothing motions far after the storm). Lust curled in his gut the longer Mark’s hand stayed there.

The intensity of Tom’s look had Mark uneasy (blown eyes from drinking too much?). Not in the strange way where his gut tugged him away, but in a way that tugged him closer.  
“I'm still a little beat up,” Tom suddenly blurt out, cutting through the thick silence that Mark hadn't known was building. “The worst is pretty much over now, if you wanna give me some space to relax a little more.” Tom runs his hand through his hair nervously, the building want to jump Mark’s bones was almost childish in its sudden intensity. Mark was always just too kind for his own good; the notion of being taken care of always got him off slightly, although he'd never admit it. 

Mark sits there, unmoving. He’s heard what Tom said but watching him run his hand through his hair has got his gears turning. He has to try something or else it would continue to build and nag at him whenever they were together.

Mark reaches for Tom’s dick, his hand crawling past Tom’s knee to his thigh and then inching it's way to the inside of Tom’s leg, where he twitches from the light touches. The bassist watches Tom carefully for any sign of him pulling away. They have families and kids and four years in-between them of complete silence and four years of on and off fighting even before, the latter one and a half year being a terrible time in-between them. But this? now? 

"Do you want me to try and help you... relax?" Mark says monotone, his voice rising no louder than a whisper. 

Tom doesn't move. Mark’s not really one to push sexual advances on anyone, so after a few awkward moments with his arm in an awkward positions mere inches from palming the other man through his pants, he retreats stiffly and is about to apologize when he hears a whine from Tom. 

"Wait," Tom hitches out, a hand grasping Mark’s wrist. He peers up at Mark with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "We shouldn't." 

Mark can't help but crack a little smile. "Okay, and we aren't." He says matter of factly. "That’s why I'm taking my hand away, which you have seemed to stop." 

Tom frowns slightly but just tightens his grip on his friend’s wrist. Mark smirks inwardly, he knows he has Tom eating out of the palm of his hand and the power makes him a little giddy. 

"What’s the matter Tom?" Mark asks, knowing entirely what the matter is. 

Tom throws his head back in exasperation.

"Mark," he says as he exhales, a little under his breath. 

The older man says nothing, and just looks at Tom expectantly.

"I want it,” he whispers out, so quietly Mark almost has to read his lips. 

Mark tilts his head, "Hm?"

Tom knows Mark is fucking around by this point, and looks up to glare at him. He relaxes his face and breaths out, closing his eyes and recollecting himself. "I want it," he says steadier, louder. "Please," He adds, tugging on Mark’s wrist slightly. 

Mark hums slightly. "okay." he says matter of factly, his hands crawling up Tom’s pants again. 

The guitarist's breath hitches as he realizes it's actually happening.

"Would this help you out Tom?" Mark says under his breath, just loud enough for Tom to hear. 

Tom bites his bottom lip and nods his head, his eyes glued to Mark’s hands as he nimbly undoes Tom’s button of his pants.

Tom can feel Mark’s hand fiddle with his waistband. "Toooom..." Mark draws out the o teasingly. His hand slips underneath and grabs the base of Tom’s dick. "Look at me."  
Tom tore his gaze away from the hand in his pants to Mark’s own eyes. In a form of reward, the warm hand around Tom’s dick stroked upwards smoothly. 

The hand retreated as Mark scooted backwards and managed to shimmy Tom’s black jeans down along with his underwear. He easily retuned to the place between Tom’s legs, hand poised at the base of Tom’s cock once more. 

"How do you feel now," Mark wanted to know.

Tom took a deep breath before responding. "A little shaky,"

Mark frowned slightly and then flashed a quick smile. "From the concert still or my hand on your penis?" He joked.

Tom huffed out a laugh and opened his mouth to respond, but choked on a moan as Mark gave him a long stroke. Mark noted how the head of his dick shined wetly.  
"You’re pretty excited already," Mark half-teased as he continued to pump Tom.

Tom groaned in response, feeling slightly embarrassed but Mark’s hand was on his dick and he really couldn't care less how much his body betrayed how much quickly he wanted Mark. 

"Been a little- a little busy..." He managed to get out. "Jen’s a little pissed with how-shit Mark... how little time I have to be with her right now," 

Mark let out a grunt, not really wanting to have small talk about Tom’s wife when he has his cock in his hand. "You don't gotta think about that right now," Mark continued, “Just relax," Mark then teased the head, thumbing the slit.

Tom broke the eye contact as he threw his head back and whined, tensing at the feeling and trying to find purchase. 

"That's not relaxing," Mark said with a mock sternness. 

"...Fuck.." Was all Tom could respond with, starting to pant. 

"Relax for me baby," a pet name slipped through. Mark winced but decided not to apologize, reasoning he was already inside his ex-lovers pants anyways. 

Tom keened but obeyed the older man, concentrating on keeping his muscles loose and enjoying the feeling brewing in his gut. 

Mark smirked and continued to stroke him, steadily and with a twist at the top that he knew Tom liked. When he noticed Tom struggling to relax, he slowed his stroke down marginally. 

Tom immediately tensed up again when he noticed Mark was slowing down. "No Mark please...!" His hips raised up to fuck up into Mark’s hand, desperate for a quicker pace.

"You gotta relax for me," Mark placed his other hand flat on Tom’s hip, pushing it down so he couldn't buck up into Mark’s fist. In this position Mark’s face was hovering closely to Tom’s own. "Tommy I'll get you there, you know I always do." Tom could feel Mark’s breath on his lips, still feeing abused from biting down trying to keep his moans to a minimum. Tom let out the most pathetic whimper as he fought to relax once more. 

"Shhhhhhh," Mark cooed just above Tom’s lips, keeping the slow methodical movement of his hand that he knew would drive Tom out of his mind. 

Tom’s broad chest continued to heave but he stayed as limp as possible, trying to enjoy the building pressure that rose in him in waves. Mark’s hand was far from fast enough to get him off but succeeded in brewing him and overwhelming want for Mark to push him over the edge. 

Mark enjoyed watching Tom, how his eyebrows twitched and furrowed intermediately, his mouth dropping open soundlessly and closing to swallow- it almost as if Mark could feel his own pupils dilate. 

Mark drew his hand up Tom’s dick slowly once more before thumbing at the head again, to which Tom, try as he might, couldn't help but let a quiet, high pitched moan escape in the form of Mark’s name. 

Mark surged forward, not being able to help himself anymore, and kissed the guitarist, who weakly kissed him back, too pent up to concentrate on kissing back. 

Mark missed Tom’s lips so much, the familiar smell of him you can only get when you're kissing someone, skin so close- and it was Tom, Mark groaned into Tom’s open mouth.

Mark picked up the pace of his and, squeezing more tightly and confidently swiping the pre cum at the tip of his dick as he thumbed the head of Tom’s dick. Tom couldn't help it- a throaty moan filled the dressing room as both men panted against each other. 

"Mark..." Tom gasped, feeling his skin starting to stick with sweat. "Mark- f-fuck, m' close..." 

A thrill went down Mark’s spine as Tom started to shake underneath him. "Alright baby alright," He murmured, feeling Tom’s dick swell and twitch underneath his hand. "You can cum now Tom, go ahead, nice and slow for me." 

Tom could feel it boiling inside him, his hips twitching until Mark finally gave one twist to Tom’s dick, and everything spilled over. His hands suddenly grasping for Mark’s shoulders to hold onto, Tom came rhythmically underneath Mark, moaning with each wave as his hips bucked up. Mark stroked him through his orgasm, milking the last few drops of Tom’s cum from his dick as Tom moaned softly. 

He released Tom’s cock as it softened. Tom lying boneless with it. The guitarist’s eyes fluttered open to Mark sucking on his own finger, eyes glimmering in amusement and the rest of his hand glimmering in Tom’s release. 

"Ughhhh," Tom groaned at the image, Mark popping the finger out of his mouth and laughing. 

"What’s up?" he said, as if nothing had just happened between them. 

"I can't get it up again that fast again," Tom confessed, half bitterly at not being able to enjoy the image of Mark licking Tom’s own cum off of his fingers as much as he could be. He threw his elbow over his eyes at the thought.

Mark giggled and leaned in to kiss Tom, startling him enough to allow the older man to push his tongue in. 

Tom turned his head immediately as he tasted bitterness on Mark’s tongue. "Fuckin’ gross Mark!" he complained, while Mark just hummed and resumed the kissing, this time trailing to Tom’s jawline down his neck. "Nah, you think it's hot." He responded matter-of-factly. 

Tom just grunted and decided to enjoy the man’s soft lips on his neck. The light kisses and nips continued for a while, enough for Tom to finally get his bearings down to earth again. 

"How do you feel now? Any better?" Mark said between leaving kisses right below Tom’s ear. 

Tom smiled and reached his hands around and up Mark’s back and brought him in a tight hug.

"Tom-" Mark squeaked out as the younger man held him too-tightly. 

Tom exhaled as he released Mark, the latter falling into Tom’s chest as he breathed deeply for a few seconds, trying to regain oxygen. "Yeah, I do." Tom finally replied. 

Mark got up and smiled at him, Tom returned the smile, and then his face faltered. "But... Mark fuck. What if the kids don't like me anymore…" 

Mark frowned, his heart bruised. "Tom, you're a good person. I like you. They’re gunna like you. And if not? Call them motherfuckers." he sighed. "It’s still you in there. Do you wanna play this show?"

Tom’s eyes snapped up to Mark, nodding. 

Mark heaved himself up, stretching out a hand to Tom. "Well fuckin’ put on your pants and let's play this god damn show."

Tom giggled as he shimmied his jeans back up. "Put on your pants and jacket." 

Mark rolled his eyes but smiled as Tom took his hand and stood up as well.


End file.
